Let's Just See a Moment
by Missing Triforce
Summary: Let's part the weave of Time and see just two threads entwined. If only for one night. One-shot FLUFF. Part of "Alice" series Warnings: SLASH, mention of OC. Please R&R


**Continuation of the "Alice" Sherlock/John series (see "God Save the Child"). Also, there's the slightest reference to another fic of mine, "Who Knew?" Review if the fancy takes you! =D**

**Disclaimer: I only own Alice & putting these words in a certain order. Everything else is much too beautiful to be mine. 3**

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><p><em>I left my soul at Riechenbach<em>

_somewhere in the falls_

_drowning down the cliffside_

_it took my heart away_

_Meet me back at Riechenbach_

John was dreaming.

Or, more accurately, in one of those in-between states. Everything was half-reality, half-nothing and lucidly flowing together like two tributaries into a stream. Everything seemed blue.

Sherlock was heading into the bedroom after a long night of experimentation: timing the effect bases and acids had on bruised skin. He'd wished he had a more accurate way to damage the proffered arm besides thwacking it with a riding crop: it could alter the results a tad. Sherlock shook his head. It didn't matter now. The man was innocent in any case. He was smiling slightly at the memory of Alice helping: her steady gold eyes as she had carefully and seriously offered him the dropper full of ammonia water (at age eleven John had finally given his consent to Alice handling dangerous chemicals). He was still smiling when he finally reached the bedroom and observed John lying in the bed.

It looked underwater.

The whole room was bathed in the comforting, promising blue of morning, but distilled with amber from the streetlight. John was lying there, half-swathed in blankets, and a hand reached out palm up to Sherlock's side of the bed. His irises drifted lazily back and forth under his eyelids, and his breath came steady and deep.

John felt warmer, like something good had happened in his dream. Something dark and pale and smooth had become mixed with all the blue.

Sherlock stared at his partner. The usual tan folds and sandy soft hair were tinged turquoise. The lines under his eyes, across the plain of forehead, in between his eyebrows, and the corners of his mouth that had tracked their life together seemed to absorb all the light. All the little waves of particles seemed to draw inexplicably near the muscular frame on the bed, the soft shoulders, always open arms, and gently dozing face that Sherlock felt he could look on forever.

Swellings of chest, turns of the shoulder, flicks of the fingers as he typed: all the little movements that could contort into any shape to convey the smallest emotion, the tiniest thought yet glow, glow amongst all the blue, against the fact that he looked like he had drowned underwater.

John felt something vaguely chilly touch his hand, encase it in a long-fingered embrace. It sent a little thrill up his arm: this was a good dream, definitely a good dream. A creaking was heard and John tensed-maybe not so good-but then four soft and callused pads touched the left side of his face delicately. John breathed again: good. He tried in his dream-state to lean towards the touch as it traced downwards, leaving lines of tingly sensation behind as the caress traveled down to his chin. It reminded him of many happy memories, sometimes frightening, but happy. His mind's eye darkened at the thought, the unconscious's blacker musings encouraged. No, don't...

Suddenly, something smooth and hard and lovely was pressed against his lips. Something molding to his own like it wanted to belong there, stay there, take all his breath for itself because breathing was boring compared to this. This was much, much, a thousand times better.

He'd felt it before, in another, never forgotten dream.

Sherlock had been kissing John because it hurt too much not to, the thought of waterfalls and drowning stung his mind and made his chest ache. Though perhaps the early hour had something to do with it. Sherlock was about to let go when suddenly John was kissing back, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's back and deep into his curls and pulling him down towards him.

"I was dreaming of you."


End file.
